


Bruises and Bubblebaths

by Artezeous



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Bathtub, Comfort, Cuddles, EXTREMELY self-indulgent, Edward’s a workaholic, F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Married Couple, Mild Injuries, Mostly just Ed being cute, No Smut, Not Beta Read, Pre-Arkham Knight, Reader definitely was listening to lo-fi, Semi-angsty ending, Then it’s less cute, Umbrella Academy reference towards the end, Until the Scarecrow comes in, and also insecure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artezeous/pseuds/Artezeous
Summary: After a long night, Edward comes home to his doting spouse in need of some encouragement.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Reader, Edward Nygma/You
Kudos: 27





	Bruises and Bubblebaths

Edward Nygma stumbled into his apartment in the dark of night, pure adrenaline preventing his knees from buckling in exhaustion. As he closed his door, locking it and slipping its chain in its proper place, he closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, releasing only a fraction of the tension in his shoulders. 

He traded his goggles for his glasses, setting them aside on the three-legged table beside the coat closet as he massaged the indentions left on his forehead. The contents of his pockets fell into a cracked ashtray with a disorderly jingle. 

He rested his back against a wooden door, running a hand through his askew hair. The drooping ends of his hair clung to his forehead with a heavy layer of sweat and oil, a testament to his strenuous evening. Edward had an hour at most before unbearable aches settled into his muscles. The bruises from his scuffle would take days to fade.

Was it too late to reconsider retirement?

Pushing himself from the door with a grunt, Edward trudged to the kitchenette lodged in a narrow corner, already dreading the taste of stale bread and bologna teetering on a fine line between edible and expired. The sitting area and kitchen bursted with light at the flick of a switch, and Edward squinted. 

A dull pain throbbed in his legs, each step heavier than the last. Edward stumbled forward with his cane. Suppressing a wince, Edward reached for a birch cabinet on the verge of collapsing. 

His hand hovered over a half-empty bag of bread, a green sticky note resting atop it with a bold message scrawled in black:

_I am a kitchen appliance_

_One probably taller than you_

_I keep your food nice and chilled_

_Especially the soup that’ll leave you thrilled_

_What am I?_

The riddle was childish of course, but the effort warmed Edward’s heart nonetheless, bringing a smile to his face. Besides, he was in no mood to hunt down his dinner after countless hours arched over his workbench. 

Pocketing your note, he shifted to the refrigerator, a covered bowl with a second note awaiting him:

_A minute for every year._

It joined your first note in his coat pocket, and Edward set the microwave to two minutes—one for every year since your elopement. As Edward waited, he nursed a glass of suspiciously murky water, drifting into a pool of his own thoughts. It was just past one in the morning; surely, you’d be tucked into bed, dreaming of Edward’s return. He would have to thank you in the morning. 

Edward retrieved his soup, a dishrag wrapped around the scalding bowl. Normally, Edward could wait, but a burned tongue was a small price to pay for his first meal in nearly a day. The warmth of the soup melted his frozen fingers, his shivers dissipating. The taste of chicken and slurping of noodles brought back memories of simpler times—times before a rundown apartment, back in the days of the GCPD and the blackmailing of politicians. 

Back when he didn’t worry you sick every time he left the apartment.

Edward sighed. _Oh, to be young again._

Edward rinsed his bowl, leaving it in the sink to deal with in the morning. His newfound energy would allow him to tend to his new cuts and scrapes, possibly even shower. (You would throw a _fit_ if Edward stained your sheets with motor oil again.) As he switched off the lights, an unfamiliar glow emanating from the sole room down the hall. Edward followed the mysterious light, hoping for the best yet steeling himself for the worst. The idea of _another_ hindrance in his evening caused his grip to tighten around his cane. Already, Edward began to formulate a plan to counter any unwanted visitors. 

He poked his head into the bedroom, eyebrows bunching as his eyes shifted to your shared bed. His side remained as he left it, made and uncluttered. The sheets on your side, however, were pushed aside in a wrinkled bunch, a telltale sign that you _had_ gone to bed at one point.

But where did you go?

The light came not from the bedroom itself but the bathroom attached to it, its door open wide enough for Edward to catch a glimpse of a bubbling bathtub. Soothing music leaked from the bathroom, loud enough to catch a handful of lyrics and low bass, yet quiet enough not to rattle your husband. 

  
  


Edward shed his short-sleeved shirt, folding it over his desk chair. His nose scrunched as he inhaled the suffocating scent of stale smoke. As he approached the bathroom, he folded his arms in such a way that concealed his injuries before leaning against the doorway, drinking in the sight before him with a twinge of fondness. 

You reclined in the large jacuzzi placed in the corner of the bathroom, your hair perfectly dry. Bubbles covered you from the middle of your chest downward, your toes poking out of the jacuzzi with routine flexes. Your gaze focused solely on the novel in your hands—your favorite, if Edward recalled correctly (as though he could _ever_ be mistaken). Did you not hear him come in, the beeps of the microwave, his dress shoes as they met the creaking hardwood of your shared apartment?

Apparently not. 

You wiggled, suppressing a smile as water tickled your skin. Ah yes, you must be getting to your favorite part. Edward knew that smile all too well. 

The way books enthralled you—how quickly you found solace in imaginary worlds and colorful casts of characters—never ceased to charm Edward. There was something utterly wholesome about it, something too pure for the rest of the world to share. Seeing you so giddy caused Edward to form a smile of his own, ignoring the familiar creep of unattended cuts. 

“I could’ve sworn I saw you reading that just last week,” Edward mused aloud, his eyes bright with playfulness. 

You gasped, nearly jumping from the tub as you whirled around to lock eyes with Edward, a hand pressed against your chest to soothe the sudden jolt of your heart. Your surprise washed away at the sight of your husband. 

You set your book aside, not even bothering to mark your place. With burning cheeks, you twisted the rest of your body to face the door to get a better look at Edward, secretly assessing the damage of his night out. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“There’s no need to be so skittish. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Edward moved to pull down the lid of your nearby toilet, sitting beside you with a growing grin and a glint of mischief behind his gaze. “That’s Crane’s forte, not mine.”

“I’m not skittish,” you defended. “Just _surprised_.”

Edward hummed with a smirk. “Sure.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pushed your upper body to the tub’s rim, unbothered by the bubbles and water that followed you. Edward leaned forward, meeting your lips with a sweet kiss. An unfamiliar scratch pricked at your cheeks.

“You need to shave,” you informed him, the pad of your thumb tracing his stubbled jaw.

“What, you don’t like it?” Edward’s cheek rubbed against yours with a grin, causing you to squirm and giggle. “And here I thought I’d grow it out.”

“The only beards allowed here are _bubble_ beards.” You scooped bubbles into your palm, smearing them against Edward’s unguarded cheek. 

A startled noise escaped Edward’s throat before escaping your grasp with the grace of a child. Jutting out his tongue, Edward leaned back as he wiped away the bubbles with the back of his hand, feigning a cartoonish pout. 

Your head tilted upwards as you returned to your former spot, catching Edward’s stare with a wiggle. “I could make room for you if you want.”

“I would but,” Edward’s words died as he unfolded his arms, sucking on his cheek. New injuries joined Edward’s aging white scars, each with a story to tell. Bruises old and new peppered his skin, purples and yellows swirling together in a battered dance. Cuts too stubborn to scab gnarled Edward’s arm in angry shades of red. 

Your fingers grazed his forearm, following a trail of marks. Edward refused to meet your gaze as his face hardened, but the discomfort in his eyes betrayed him. Your own softened.

“Ed,” you sucked in a breath, “where were your henchmen?” 

The corners of his mouth twitched, too exhausted to feign a smile. He ran a hand through his hair. “To be fair, I shouldn’t have expected a bunch of half-witted brutes to keep the police distracted for very long.” 

Edward’s voice dipped into an incoherent mumble as he scratched the back of his neck, something about explosives. It would explain the smell of singed hair radiating from him, as well as smoke. 

You frowned.

“They’ve buckled down,” Edward admitted with a tsk, a frustration stifling his voice into a whisper. His hands balled into pale fists. “But they won’t stand a chance once my masterpieces are complete. Then I won’t need _goons_ to carry out my plans. I’ll finally have Batman where I want him, and _nothing_ will get in my way.”

As quickly as Edward’s mood darkened, the storm clouds surrounding him vanished, confidence rolling from his body in powerful waves. He dismissed your concern with a wave of his hand. “But it worked out in the end. I’m here, and as long as I’m out of Arkham, Batman hasn’t won yet.”

“Did you at least find what you were looking for?” Edward often kept the details of his plans a mystery. Occasionally, he gifted you a riddle or puzzle to solve, but whether or not his mysteries were worth unraveling was left for you to decide. In the previous weeks, Edward vaguely mentioned an upcoming adventure, though the details remained unknown. You shrugged it off as a search for a new rarity to add to his growing collection and happily awaited the news reports destined to follow. 

But Edward’s heists weren’t known to end _explosively_.

“It wasn’t . . . _quite_ what I anticipated.” Edward hoisted himself up from the toilet and to the medicine box tucked under the bathroom sink, his muscles tight as he bent down to retrieve it. “But I got what I needed.” 

“Which was?”

“Information.” Edward opened the box, skimming its contents with an adjustment of his glasses. Edward squinted as he lifted a small box, holding it in the light. “Crane’s been in contact with Cobblepot, as well as a handful of others.”

“And?” you prompted, pulling your legs to your chest as your eyes followed Edward back to his seat. How long had it been since the Scarecrow’s sudden disappearance? More importantly, _why_ would he choose to resurface now?

Was it so wrong to wish he had drowned in Gotham’s sewers as the rumors suggested?

“ _And_ ,” Edward continued before promptly tearing into a new bag of cotton pads with his teeth, “he wants to meet with yours truly. _Alone._ ”

Your head spun as you searched for something to say, yet no words came. 

Horror stories of Scarecrow’s experiments bombarded your mind, the hysteria and the hallucinations it prompted tightening your chest. Distant screams rang in your ears. Even months after his attacks, the occasional headline would pop up, a grim reminder of the damage he inflicted upon Gotham. 

Since your first encounter with Edward, you only met the Scarecrow once, and the encounter rocked your core. The glowing eyes of his mask poured into you, studying you, dismantling your very identity piece by piece, deciphering the best way to break you as he did with everyone else he encountered; even his colleagues fell prey to him at one point or another. You did not linger in his presence long, and yet he proceeded to haunt your dreams for months on end.

Edward’s voice pulled you back to reality, soothing the goosebumps rising from your skin.

“He’s probably planning something—another trap to ensnare Batman in. But it won’t work. The only one that’s ever gotten close enough to defeating Batman is me, and _Crane_ doesn’t have the intellect I do to make a trap _remotely_ complex enough, making _me_ ,” Edward smiled through his clenched teeth, dabbing one of his many cuts with a cotton pad drenched in rubbing alcohol, “the perfect variable to his little equation.”

As much as you believed in Edward, his hubris proved time and time again to be his downfall. (But according to Edward, he did not _have_ an ego, for he was far too brilliant for such a thing.) Though you weren’t _proud_ of Edward’s career path persay, like any partner, you yearned to see Edward smile, and the downfall of Batman could bring Edward a joy unlike any other. 

Most importantly, Edward’s obsession with Batman could finally rest. Finally, Edward could begin to move forward from the humiliation spiraling him further into insanity. 

The Edward you fell in love with could finally come home.

If Scarecrow could help him achieve his goal, maybe even restore Edward’s sanity, then you could swallow your apprehension for a short while. But with Edward’s growing ego, convincing him to collaborate with an “inferior intellect” would prove to be the real challenge in capturing Batman.

While the Scarecrow spoke the languages of fear and manipulation, you spoke fluent Edward. 

“Let me guess, it’s something to do with fear toxins.” 

“Most likely.”

You gestured for the box of bandaids in Edward’s hand. He relinquished them, easing forward to grant you access to his disinfected forearm. “Then maybe he’s bringing you on board for fresh ideas.” 

Edward’s eyes brightened with interest, his dropping shoulders snapping upward. “You think so?” 

Despite what Edward claimed, you caught the longing in his eyes as he studied articles with headlines of fellow villains. Just hours earlier, a captivating recounting of Poison Ivy’s recent escapade captured his attention over a cup of coffee. No matter how hard Edward sought to prove his superiority, deep down, the child in him sought something far more innocent.

“Why else?” You placed a Princess Tiana bandaid just above Edward’s elbow, smoothing it with a slow swipe of your thumb. “Ed, your ideas—the puzzles you’ve made, the riddles you come up with—they’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. And your challenge rooms? _Brilliant_.”

“You . . .you think they’re brilliant?” Edward blinked, studying your face as a faint blush colored his cheeks, spreading to his ears. He cleared his throat. “I—I mean, _of course_ you do. My intellect is _unmatched_. I am the—”

“—the smartest villain in Gotham,” you completed with a patient smile.

“Ed.” Your hands sandwiched his own. “I _know_ you are. And Crane does, too. That’s why he needs your help.”

Much to your satisfaction, Edward’s criminal persona subsided. His eyes brightened with confidence, crinkling as he smiled with tooth-rotting sweetness. 

“Oh, _what_ would I do without you,” Edward peppered your temple with loving kisses, traveling to your jawline, “my little enigma.”

“You’d _probably_ be eating stale bread for dinner.” 

Edward huffed, rubbing his stubbled cheek against you in response. 

“Hey!”

“ _Thank you_ , by the way.” Gratefulness from Edward was a rarity amongst his colleagues and goons. Any thanks sounded more like it came from the mouth of a begrudged child rather than a man, the words absurdly foreign to someone his age. In any normal relationship, thanks would be expected, but given Edward’s oddities, his sudden thanks caused your heart to flutter. 

Edward pulled away, cocking his head to the side as he studied his enigma. “But what are you doing up so late?”

“I missed you.” The plug of the jacuzzi released with a pop, your bubbly water draining in a circular spiral. The answer came to you as easily as breathing, and the adorable red across Edward’s face earned a smile. “I wanted to be awake when you got home.”

Upon rising from your bath, you slipped your gleaming wedding band onto your finger. Edward handed you your towel, reaching past you to pause your music. He turned his attention to the remaining injuries peppering his arms and scrubbed his hands and face of grime and oil as you went about your nightly routine. A comfortable silence blanketed the bathroom until a pair of blue eyes met your own through the mirror. 

Edward winked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. 

Playfully rolling your eyes, you turned and wrapped your arms around Edward’s neck. With glee, Edward’s arms snaked around your waist, tugging you closer. 

Your fingers twirled Edward’s burnt hair, your eyes heavy as you leaned against your husband. “Let’s go to bed.”

Edward leaned into your touch, deflating as his shoulders released what little energy he had left. Sighing, his lips met yours in a chaste kiss. “ _With pleasure_.”

* * *

“You ought to invest in better locks for your windows.”

The voice filled your apartment the moment your door swung open, a heavy bag of groceries resting in your arms. You screamed, your bag tumbling into the darkness of your apartment as your heart skyrocketed into your throat. 

One hand wielded the pepper spray attached to your keys, the other flipping the nearby light switch. 

Sitting in your favorite armchair, Dr. Jonathan Crane—or rather, what was left of him—rested his hands atop his folded leg with a mixture of patience and _insufferable_ delight at your shriek. 

When you regained your voice, you croaked a reply as you pocketed your pepper spray and shut your front door, “I live on the second floor.”

“Rapists can climb,” drawled the Scarecrow.

Your eyes fell to your fire escape. You wondered if you could reach it before Scarecrow caught you.

“Aren’t you going to pick those up?” Scarecrow’s eyes settled on your scattered groceries. His voice was much deeper than the Scarecrow you encountered long ago. His mask clung to him like a second skin, and your stomach churned at the idea that it _was_ his skin. 

Clenching your jaw, you remained frozen at your door, eyes never leaving your houseguest. “Later.”

“You’re afraid of me.” Your silence only encouraged him to continue. “I would go as far to say that you’re terrified.”

“Why are—” You cleared your throat at your sudden voice crack, “—why are you here, Crane?”

His lipless mouth drew upwards, tickled by the strings hanging from his cloth face. “I came to thank you.”

Your brows furrowed. “For?” 

“For speaking to Edward, of course.”

“And how...would _you_ know about that?” A daring step nudged you into your sitting area. Your stomach twisted into knots as you met Scarecrow’s piercing gaze.

“Child,” he breathed, “Edward has never been _difficult_ to read. And neither are you. Edward doesn’t take kindly to others—” Scarecrow waved a vague hand gesture, “— _stealing_ his spotlight, if you will. But if something—or rather, _someone_ —pushes him in the right direction, Edward becomes docile.”

Your jacket pockets concealed your balling fists. How quickly could your knuckles collide with the Scarecrow’s sunken nose? Would your punch be strong enough to send your armchair to the floor? Such fantasies kept the violent nag in your mind at bay.

Your eyes narrowed. “I didn’t do it for you.” 

“Nevertheless, your conversation will prove beneficial to me in the future, which is why I came with a... _peace offering_ of sorts.”

_Peace offering my ass_ , you thought.

Scarecrow’s foot nudged the bag resting beside it. With its festive colors and bright balloons, you wondered how you overlooked it and what _Scarecrow_ was doing with it. 

After a moment of unmoving silence, it became apparent that Scarecrow expected you to retrieve the gift yourself. Carefully, you drifted towards Scarecrow, holding your breath as your chest tightened. The utter delight settling on his features made you itch for an escape. 

If Batman didn’t take care of him soon, you would yourself.

You snatched the bag, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked to Scarecrow for permission. At his nodding, you opened the bag.

“Gas masks,” you murmured, your heart sinking like a stone. Your index finger traced the curve of a filter canister. The two masks looked at you with a blank stare until you snapped the bag shut. “You’re working with your toxins again, aren’t you?”

“Ah, Edward said you were an inquisitive one.” Scarecrow shifted, pulling a green card riddled with question marks out of a hidden pocket. He extended his arm towards you, the card caught between his scarred index and middle finger. Like a rabbit approaching a wolf, you moved slowly at first, suddenly recoiling as you stole the card from the Scarecrow’s bony fingers. 

Scarecrow nodded as your eyes met his, as though you needed his permission. You held back a scoff, unfolding the card to find your husband’s scrawled clue:

_I make you weak at the worst of all times._

_I keep you safe. I keep you fine._

_I make your hands sweat, and your hands grow cold._

_I visit the weak, but seldom the bold._

_What am I?_

  * _?_



Despite the riddle’s subject, you found yourself at peace for the first time since Scarecrow’s arrival. Your thumb pressed against the dried ink as your heart swelled with fondness.

“I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

_As though you were welcome in the first place_.

Scarecrow rose from his chair with trembling arms, shifting his body onto his right foot with a quiet grunt. If it was anyone else, you would question it, even offer to help. Instead, you froze, and to your horror, Scarecrow approached _you_ rather than the fire escape. 

Every nerve in your body urged you to run, yet your body remained still. As he drew closer, your chest tightened. 

He paused, consuming you in his shadow as he loomed above you. Your apartment chilled at his stare, burning into you with something akin to monstrous delight. 

You held your breath as the stench of decay wafted towards you, meeting his blue eyes with a silent plea. 

“Until next time,” said the Scarecrow. 

You jumped at the closing of your apartment door, sighing as Scarecrow’s footsteps faded. Clutching Edward’s card, you faltered towards your bedroom. In search of something to soothe the dizziness clouding your thoughts, you opened one of the wobbling drawers of the dresser you shared with Edward, retrieving a faded Gotham University t-shirt. You pulled the shirt to your face and inhaled deeply. The scent of Edward brought back countless memories, each more tender and soothing than the last. 

You traded your current attire for the shirt and a pair of lounge pants. It consumed your figure, ending just past the middle of your thigh. Though the static in your head remained, it subsided enough to ponder your encounter with Scarecrow. 

Edward’s card remained in your hand as you returned to the sitting area. At the sight of the bag of gas masks, you nudged it behind the armchair with a scowl. What was there to say? To think? It was _you_ who nudged Edward towards Scarecrow. _You_ helped whatever scheme Scarecrow was planning come into fruition, and judging by the gas masks and his home visit, Scarecrow had no intentions of backing down. 

You climbed into Edward’s chair, curling against it as you pressed his card to your chest. It was not until he returned home from another evening of scheming that you stirred, lifting your head to watch Edward cross the apartment to the sitting area.

“You got my card.” Edward caught a pinch of your shirt with his forefinger and thumb, cocking a brow with a questioning smile. “And you’re wearing my shirt.”

“I like your shirts better.”

As Edward leaned down to kiss you, your stomach sank with nauseating regret as you pondered your deadly mistake.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This got me out of a writer’s funk I’ve been having. I struggle with first drafts after building an intense pressure to write based on grading scales, which means I have countless drafts piling up in my notes app.
> 
> And then I fell in love with the Riddler (again) and cranked out this in a few days.


End file.
